No One to Trust (19 page)

Her time was limited.

Easing the door open with her shoulder, she
kept her gun tight in her hands. Her gut roiled at the sight in
front of her. Next to the splatters of blood on the slick tile
floor, the pale yellow walls seemed garish and too bright. Right
beside the billiard table in the corner of the room, Allen
freaking
Martin lay on his back. His dark unblinking eyes
were wide open, and a look of shock covered his handsome face. Her
gut told her he was dead.

Eve hadn’t exactly liked the guy but,
damn
. She quickly peeked back out the door and when she saw
no one was there, hurried over to the body. After spending months
embedded with the troops in Afghanistan, she’d seen her share of
dead bodies and she had a feeling he was gone, but she checked his
pulse anyway.

Nothing.

Crimson slowly seeped out from the three
gaping holes in his chest and was beginning to pool on the tile
floor. The coppery scent of death filled her nostrils.

Instinctively she started to step back. She
didn’t want to contaminate the crime scene and she really didn’t
want to leave any evidence behind. She had no business being here
but she did need to call the cops—even if she didn’t have much
faith in their abilities. Her car was blocks over and she couldn’t
waste that much time. She hoped Martin had a phone on him.

Avoiding the growing pool of blood, she felt
the front of his jacket pocket until she found his cell. Once her
fingers clasped around it she hurried back to the door. When she
looked out she saw the light upstairs in the main house shut
off.

Crap!

Whoever had done this was probably coming
back. She just couldn’t wrap her mind around the fact that Richard
Underwood had shot Allen Martin. Sure, Martin was sleazy, but
Underwood was a good, honest DA. Or she’d thought he was. Now it
looked like he might be a killer.

Hurrying back the way she’d come, she paused
once she was outside the fenced yard to use Martin’s phone. She
dialed 911.

As soon as the operator picked up she started
whispering into the phone. “There’s a dead body at the Underwood
mansion. 685 Kent Ave.”

“Ma’am, can you please repeat that
address?”

“There’s a dead body in the pool house behind
the Underwood mansion on Kent Avenue. Allen Martin has been shot
three times in the chest and he’s not breathing. Hurry!”

“Ma’am, are you telling me that Allen Martin
is dead in the DA’s pool house?” Eve doubted the operator was
supposed to let her disbelief show, but in a small town the woman
would have no doubt where the Underwood mansion was and exactly who
owned it.

She sighed at the woman’s question. The
dispatcher should already be contacting a patrol car. Another
strike against the police department of Hudson Creek. They’d
screwed up the prosecution of the man who’d killed Eve’s parents.
Why not screw this up too?

“Yes, that’s what I’m telling you. Send
someone
now
. The killer is still here.” It was hard to keep
her voice a whisper when she wanted to shout at the operator.

“We’re sending a patrol over but I need to
know who I’m speaking to.”

Not freaking likely.

Instead of answering, Eve hung up. She
couldn’t afford to say anything else. She’d trespassed on the
property and admitting that to the sheriff would give him an excuse
to waste hours interrogating her.

As she glanced around she realized no one
must have heard the shots because the street was deathly quiet. She
desperately wanted to wait around and make sure the cops showed up
but knew she couldn’t. If they found her here she’d be in a world
of trouble. Hurrying, she continued her escape down the
sidewalk.

When the phone she’d taken started ringing,
she jumped. The caller ID screen said restricted.

“Hey, I hear it,” a thick, accented male
voice said from behind the fence of the Underwood’s place.

Panic jumped in Eve’s chest. She pressed the
end button, effectively silencing the call as she started running
down the sidewalk. Her boots thudded loudly but there was nothing
she could do about it. She wanted to turn it off completely but
didn’t have time to waste.

“Hey! Stop!” the same voice shouted behind
her a few moments later.

A sharp pop blasted through the air and the
trunk of one of the trees lining the street splintered. The pop
sounded again and Eve felt a gush of air rush past her face.
Someone was shooting at her!

Taking a sharp right, she darted across the
Hawkins’ lawn. Even though they had an incredible house their
security was shit and she knew they had an opening in their wrought
iron fence in the backyard. If she could just make it.

Her leg muscles strained and for the first
time in years she was thankful for her daily jogging routine.
Pumping her arms and legs, she cleared the edge of the house. A
spotlight on the side of the house flipped on—likely motion
sensors—but she didn’t pause.

It almost felt as if someone was breathing
down her neck, but she knew it was fear and adrenaline surging
through her. Then she heard a muttered curse farther behind than
before. At least they weren’t still shooting. Probably because
whoever it was didn’t want to draw more attention to
themselves.

She needed to make it to the opening and
hoped no one saw her slip through. Her car was on the next street
over. Her heart pounded that erratic tattoo against her chest as
she dove over a cluster of bushes lining the back fence.

Blood rushed loudly in her ears as she began
to slowly crawl toward the opening. When the phone started ringing
again, her chest tightened. They were trying to track her using the
sound. She silenced it again then slid the back casing off. She’d
only have a few seconds to do this. Sliding the SIM card out, she
put it in her pocket then left the phone lying in the dirt.

As she continued crawling, she pulled her gun
out. When she reached the small gap in the fence she shimmied under
it. Ignoring the dirt coating her hands and the underbrush caught
in her cap and clothes, she shoved up and ran through the
neighboring backyard.

After risking a brief glance behind her, she
saw she wasn’t being followed. She allowed herself a small measure
of relief but didn’t stop running. Even if they were still looking
for her, they weren’t going to find her. She wouldn’t let them.

Unfortunately she couldn’t go home. She
hadn’t recognized the accented voice, but she couldn’t be sure
whoever had been chasing her hadn’t identified her. That left one
place to go.

Macklin wasn’t going to be happy to see her,
but Mr. Tall, dark, and too-sexy-for-his-own-good would have to
deal with it. He was one of the few people on the planet she would
trust with her life.

His Secret Past
Copyright © 2012 by Katie Reus

Hunter Cassidy looked up at the triple-canopy jungle
and wiped the sweat from his brow. The thick foliage completely
blocked the sun, but the shade did nothing to guard against the
humidity. His sweat-soaked fatigues stuck to his skin, and the
incessant buzzing of the oversized mosquitoes almost drowned out
everything else.

The crunching of boots over the earth alerted him he
wasn’t alone anymore. If these morons weren’t careful, the jungle
would devour and spit them out in seconds. Not that he’d lose any
sleep. Traitorous bastards deserved whatever happened to them.

From his hiding position, he watched Tom Davis walk
out into a clearing. The man looked to his left and signaled.
Hunter followed his gaze. Davis’s partner tried to keep cover
behind a cluster of thick trees. And failed miserably.

Hunter stepped out of his veiled spot, mere feet from
Davis. He took perverse pleasure when the other man’s eyes widened
at their close proximity.

“All right, you got me out here in this hole. Do you
have it?” Davis adjusted his linen shirt to display his nine
millimeter.

As if Hunter didn’t expect him to be carrying. “Do
you have what I want?”

“If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

“You first.” After everything Hunter had been
through, he wasn’t compromising. When Davis didn’t move, Hunter
gritted his teeth. “Tell your boy over there that his head is in
the crosshairs of my sniper.” There was no sniper, but his bluff
worked.

Davis’s dark eyes narrowed as he pulled out a thick
manila envelope and tossed it over. Hunter opened it and riffled
through the pages.

When he was sure he had the necessary paperwork, he
pointed to an overgrown elephant ear leaf. If Hunter was lucky,
Davis would get bit by one of the many venomous vipers native to
the region. “The papers and records are under there.”

Davis glanced around nervously, but took the few
steps to the plant and lifted a plain brown box. “How do I know you
haven’t made copies?”

“You don’t…just like I don’t know if you’ll renege on
our deal. Looks like we’ll have to trust each other.” Of course
he’d made copies. It was the first thing he’d done. Davis knew it,
and he knew it. Hunter hoped the thought of being exposed was
enough to keep the other man out of his life permanently.

Davis snorted and started to walk away, but Hunter
wasn’t through.

“If I see you again I’ll expose what you are, then
I’ll kill you.” He was tired of killing, tired of death and just
plain tired of living like an animal. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t
make an exception for the man in front of him.

Davis tripped on a thick tree root, but quickly
adjusted himself.

Hunter waited until both men were out of sight before
disappearing into the jungle. He strapped his rucksack over his
back and started running. A quick check of his watch told him he
had two hours to make it to his rendezvous point. If he didn’t make
it, the helicopter would leave him, and he’d be stuck in Central
America for another couple of weeks. No way could he allow that to
happen.

If he didn’t make it to Alexis in time, he knew that,
deal or not, they’d go after her as leverage against him.

* * * * *

Alexis Baptiste jerked upright in bed and clutched
her chest. Her top was completely soaked through and her heart
thumped a staccato drumbeat. Her room was quiet and she was alone.
As she should be.

Sighing, she fell back against the fluffy pillow and
pulled the covers up to her neck. For the past week the same erotic
dream had been tormenting her. All she could seem to think about
lately was Hunter kissing her, touching her, teasing her…

No, no,
no.
She thought she’d finally put
the memory of him to rest, yet lately when she closed her eyes, she
only saw his face. It pissed her off to no end.

She should be dreaming about her fiancé, Michael. Not
the liar who’d left her.
Pathetic.
She punched her pillow
for good measure before shoving the comforter off. “Jonathan, time
to get up,” she called even though she knew he was already awake.
Somehow, he always woke up a few minutes before her.

Seconds later, her five-year-old son flew through the
door and onto her bed wearing a Spider-Man costume. Despite the
fact that Halloween had been over for about a month, he insisted on
wearing it all the time. “Mom, I don’t want to go to school. Why
can’t I spend the day with you?”

“You know why. We’ve discussed this about twenty
times. I’ll be doing boring wedding stuff. You wouldn’t have any
fun.”

“If I’m with you anything is fun.” For being so
young, he knew exactly what buttons were guaranteed to make her
melt.

Still, she didn’t budge. “Sweetheart, you can’t miss
school today. It’s your show-and-tell and you’ve been looking
forward to this for weeks.”

“Oh yeah!” He flew off the bed, thoughts of staying
home already forgotten.

“Wait.”

He paused by the door, his hand on the metal
knob.

“Can you take off that costume and brush your teeth
by yourself?”

He rolled his eyes with the dramatic flair only
someone his age could pull off. “Mooom!”

“Okay, well, give me twenty minutes and I’ll help you
carry down your project.”

He nodded and slammed the door behind him.

She stripped and jumped into the shower. Though she
was tempted to luxuriate under the powerful jets of water, she
didn’t. Jonathan was a great kid, but there was never any telling
what he’d get into if left alone too long.

Since there was a light layer of snow on the ground
outside, she ran a hair dryer through her hair a few times to get
most of the dampness out. After changing into jeans and a thick
turtleneck sweater, she hurried down the stairs.

She found him in the kitchen trying to pour a glass
of milk, which teetered dangerously near the edge of the kitchen
table. “What did we talk about?” she asked from the doorway.

He froze, then turned around, his cheeks flushed
bright red. “But I thought I could get it myself—”

She lifted her eyebrows. “How did you get this out of
the refrigerator?”

“With a chair,” he mumbled.

Alexis shook her head. At least he was honest. After
pouring him a glass of milk, she popped two pieces of cinnamon
bread into the toaster. “Don’t get into anything for two seconds,
okay? I’m going to grab your project.”

With wide eyes Jonathan nodded and took a sip of his
milk.

Sometimes she hated having to play the role of both
parents. It always seemed she wasn’t doing enough. She sprinted up
the stairs and picked up his scaled-down model of Big Ben. He
wanted to show his class the inner workings of the famous clock.
Alexis didn’t completely understand his fascination with machines,
but she did everything in her power to encourage him. Jonathan’s
father had been the same way. He’d taken machines apart just to put
them back together again. Too bad for him he hadn’t been around to
see his son grow up. Even when she let her anger at Hunter’s
abandonment threaten to overtake her, she reminded herself he’d
missed out on getting to know Jonathan. Then she just felt sorry
for him.